Sexual Immersion Therapy
Chapter Forty
It was only a matter of days before my life would change in dramatic fashion, with far-reaching consequences.
There were clues piling up that immersion hypnosis was a very different animal than I had first assumed, but I could never find my way to reading them. I believed that I understood the immersion techniques’s nature, including its possibilities and limitations. Perhaps most ironic of all, I believed I could fly solo with it far into the future, doing my dick’s dirty deeds with no one ever having a clue that I was Dr. Jekyll the esteemed therapist by day, and The Sculptor by night.
I should have foreseen at least a couple of future events when I ran into Lucinda completely by accident, at a favorite wine shop. It surprised the hell out of me to see her there, because I knew she was just as busy with dance rehearsals as Mira.
“I need something special to celebrate with Grace after the premier!” she said with a bright, beautiful smile. “Plus, another bottle for when I’m on my own on Saturday, when Grace is at her therapist’s big soiree, just like you.”
She was wearing a t-shirt and super-short shorts, and I kept sneaking glances at her calves while we both perused the French section. “Damn!” some random young dude exclaimed at the end of our aisle, eyes locked-on and obviously not used to seeing superbly fit dancer’s legs when running errands.
Lucinda motioned for me to bend down, and she whispered into my ear, “I am feeling especially sexy these days. What Grace and I have keeps getting better and better, and I’m in the best shape of my life. So much of that is because of you, right?” And before I could comment, she added, “I never stop imagining ways I could thank you.”
“No need,” I said, although my cock moved, probably disagreeing. I was fully aware that if this woman had larger breasts, I may already have done some unforgivable things with her.
We exchanged a few more words about grape varietals and the dance performance, and she gave me a kiss on the cheek when we parted. It partially missed, her lips finding the corner of my mouth, and we both laughed at the awkwardness of it. Then she stood on tip-toe and held her head in her hands, and planted a big one right on my lips.
“If we’re going to do it, we’re going to do it right! Right?”
“Definitely,” I agreed, my cock stirring more.
The dance premier was on Thursday night. Grace and Lucinda would be together at the after-party, and Mira would be there, too. Afterwards, she’d come to my place or possibly hers, and we’d have sex. The cocktail party in Northern Virginia was on Saturday, and I was extremely hopeful that I’d have sex with Julia beforehand, where she could corkscrew my cock in her special way. And then, if the immersion gods were willing, I’d devise some way to trick her into being hypnotized.
What would happen earlier in the week was hazier, so it was interesting how the puzzle pieces seemed to fall into place almost by themselves.
Mira informed me by text that rehearsals would run late on Monday night, so we agreed we could take a break from each other until the next night, Tuesday. That meant I could do whatever I wanted for as long as I wanted with Gina at my home.
That afternoon at work I told my receptionist to on a message to the twins, that they were welcome to spend the night at my place if they wanted. Gina had a pencil in her hand when I delivered this news, and I didn’t miss how she tilted the eraser end back until it just brushed against her left nipple.
“I’m sure they’ll be ecstatic,” she said. “They could almost jump for joy right now.”
Gina went home for some overnight things, and it could have been right for her to have the words “muscle sex” tattooed on her body somewhere, because that was what she looked like, all built and pumped and just plain oomph-y.
It was staying light so late that we were able to fuck once on my bed, and then go out and grill steaks with color still in the sky. We shared a robust red from eastern Sicily that went perfectly with the charred meat, and it was while savoring my second glass that she uttered the words that opened up yet another door to immersion misbehavior: “I switched gyms the other day.”
“Oh? Why?” Though of course I knew why.
“I don’t know. I just wanted to compare, greener pastures or whatever. But the reason I’m bringing this up… I got to talking to a woman there, and it turns out she knows you.”
“Her name?”
“Susan. She said she used to be on a volleyball team with you.”
Ka-ching!!! “Susan Tinley?”
“That’s it. I told her I was working for you, and I got the feeling… Did you two date or something?”
I pictured Susan, with her dimpled chin and extremely muscular frame, with the power legs that had driven me half-crazy on the volleyball court. In of hot and sexy muscle appeal, she wasn’t as off the charts as Julia—was anybody—but she probably came the closest of any woman I knew.
“No, Susan and I were just teammates. There was one time that we all went out for beers, after coming in second place during league tournaments, and she did become a bit flirtatious. But not just with me; it was more like a team vibe after such a great season. She was an amazing player, extremely dependable and quick on the court. She’s really strong, although you probably already know that.”
“The woman is put together, that’s for sure. I watched her working her legs and abs and I felt… It’s settled. I want to look more like she looks.”
“What do you mean?”
“Her physique, that’s what I mean! She’s even more pumped than I am, and just… She’s sexy as hell, okay? I am too, but not like that. Yet.”
I was pretty sure that Gina’s tits were looking much sexier than Susan’s, unless my old volleyball teammate’s boobs had grown since I last saw her. Gina had put on gym shorts and a scooping tank-top after we’d fucked, showing off plenty of muscle and cleavage, and my eyes kept going to her chest. Her overall body gains from the gym were evident, but I would swear that her tits were getting more than their fair share of every meal she digested. I couldn’t be more pleased; in fact, the more I assessed the added size there, the more I felt myself heating up.
“Gina, that message you conveyed today about the twins…I’m under the impression that they’ve been on the opposite of a diet lately.”
She smiled with what I would easily describe as an Italian smile. “Are you accusing the twins of being fat?”
“I’m not sure if ‘fat’ is the right word. Maybe… plump?”
She drew her arms in at her sides, compressing her tits to make her cleavage crack deepen. “Maybe the twins are simply maturing nicely,” she said. “Filling out.”
I was in shorts, and it was no surprise that my receptionist’s eyes lowered to take in my growing bulge.
“You have such a fit and sexy body,” I said while staring at her tits, knowing my gaze and the complimentary words were like intense foreplay.
“I’ve had goals when I work-out, like a plan to steadily get stronger. But I’ve smashed through all of those old goals in just a few weeks, and now… I’m so much stronger than when you first met me, and—”
“You’re curvier, too. Sometimes when I see you sitting at your desk in the office, and I catch sight of your ankles and calves, and then your thighs when you stand…”
“Mmmm,” she sounded, still locked onto my erection. A little whiff of her scent was carried to my nose on the night breeze.
“Or you lean forward and I’m treated to just how full your breasts are. You do that on purpose, don’t you? You want me to how big and beautiful your tits are.”
“Oh fuck yes…” slipped out from her lips, nipples pointing.
It was almost fully dark and I clicked the remote to turn on the string of party lights that hung over the deck, knowing the distortion of my shorts would be the only thing she cared to see better.
When I sat back down, Gina’s eyes were locked on with her mouth hanging open. Gulping, she said with a quaver yo her voice, “Did I ever tell you anything about my boss?”
This could be fun, so I said, “No. What’s he like?”
“Incredibly kind and talented; I think that and so do all of his clients. But there’s this thing about him that makes it hard for me to concentrate at the office sometimes. He can’t help it, but… There are moments where I can’t help noticing that he’s freaking hung. And I just… I have a thing about that; I have for years. It makes me so, sooo…”
I put my hand on my shorts and pressed around my shape with my fingertips, making the outline of my erection more distinct. For a woman with a size fetish…
“Fuck!” she shouted.
“Pinch your beautiful nipples, Gina. I can see how hard they are.”
She did as I said, rolling her nipples through the material of her tank-top. I unzipped my shorts and freed my erection out into the early night air, delighted at how she let out a low moan, then a more forceful, “Oh yes!”
“Lose the top, Gina. You say the twins are filling out? Show me.”
“Right out here?”
Her head turned on a swivel, but whatever her concerns were about being seen, they weren’t enough to stop her from complying. She whisked her top away and wasted no time getting on her knees between my legs, proving the size of her boobs by giving me an enthusiastic tit-job.
I came all over her collarbones and neck and it was while she was massaging my spunk into the flesh of her boobs that I said, “Let’s go up to my bedroom. I want to give you the special relaxation technique before I eat the living fuck out of your glorious clit.”
The smell of her lubrication was coming at me at higher volume once we went indoors. I had to calm her down some to get her into the immersion state, and once she was fully under I stood beside my bed and just grinned.
Gina lay topless on my bed, still wearing gym shorts that were stained a darker shade of blue right where her legs came together. She was horny sensuality made absolutely helpless, a woman literally dripping in anticipation of input.
There was something momentous about this particular hypnotic transgression, because after all of the gaming and underhanded use of the technique with multiple women, this was the very first time I’d practiced sexual immersion therapy in my own home.
It was a bit of a peculiar session, too, in that I already had this woman just as I wanted her. Gina was wonderfully efficient in her official capacities as my receptionist, and unofficially she was incredibly eager for sex any time I wanted it. She was already working hard at making her body even more appealing to me, and she had wasted no time in switching gyms in her unconscious search to seek out other fit and fine women I might like.
And just like that, she had found Susan Tinley, my old volleyball teammate.
My mission, then, was to tee-up Susan through Gina. I put it into my receptionist that she needed to meet up with Susan as quickly as was humanly possible, and she needed to make sure I came up in conversation again. Once there, she would talk up what a great boss and person I was, and speak of my amazingly effective body relaxation technique. Gina could even drop hints, confidentially of course, that ever since she’d had her body/mind equilibrium brought into better alignment by the technique, her climaxes during sex were unlike anything she’d ever experienced before.
There were no guarantees that any of this would have the desired effect of getting Susan stretched out on her back in front of me, vacantly absorbing everything I wanted. We hadn’t seen each other in months—she might be too busy to call, or in a relationship or just not interested enough. But if things worked out and I got her in the special state, I would have her.
That was the simple truth of my life—if I wanted to have sex with a woman and I ever got her in the immersion state, she was mine.
Gina was mine right now, and I decided that I’d toy with her in a new way, by going in a direction that I’d thought about the other night. I put it into her that when my cock was inside her pussy or her ass, and I said the words, “I feel like I’m growing even harder!”, she would feel it to be true, that my rod was swelling in size in reality, my meat enlarging with every thrust. And rather than cause any fear, it would be like her size fetish itself was growing, the hallucination intensifying her pleasure to heights she’d never even dreamed of.
Inspired by the word “dream”, I tried something else that was also new. I had no idea if I could implant a specific dream into someone’s subconscious world, but it was time to find out. The direction was simple—Gina would start having dreams in the night where her breasts were really growing, at a pace and to a degree that seemed impossible. In these dreams, wherever they were set, she would feel the additional mass and weight on her chest, and if she saw her reflection in a mirror or a body of water, she would marvel at her new dimensions. She would having to buy new bras over and over again, and when she held or squeezed the expanded assets in her hands, or reached out to stroke her much larger nipples, she would hiss with delight at the added scale, the bountiful abundance, and especially her nipples’ supercharged sensitivity…
And whenever she ed any of these dreams, she would wish they could come true, for herself and also for Michael.
I could have stopped there, but new add-on’s popped into my mind. If her breasts did measurably grow any more, she would feel the need to confess these dreams to Michael, holding nothing back. And like some combination of a mantra and a silently repeated magic incantation, she must frequently chant the words “enlargement energy” in her mind, or even out loud when she knew she was alone. Because that was completely lawful—the universe itself was expanding, so it only made sense that her breasts could, too. By thinking or saying those words over and over, she was summoning enlargement energy from all the corners of the universe, right into her chest where it could fill the cells of her breasts with the will to expand, and multiply, and just fucking grow.
This woman had been delivered to my door pre-loaded with a size fetish, and did I care that everything I was putting into her tonight was like taking that clay and twisting it towards the ridiculous? Hell no, not when I was The Sculptor, and every voice-modulated word felt like it was boomeranging back to me to make my hard-on grow a hard-on.
As I brought her back towards consciousness, I decided to begin where I’d said I would, by eating her pussy. While she was half-there, I turned her body on the bed so her legs dangled off the edge, and I stripped her shorts and panties away. I settled in on the floor between her legs and lightly stroked her clitoris with my thumbs, then dove in with my tongue.
Gina moaned and encouraged, her powerful thighs quivering. Her hands went to her big breasts, squeezing and lifting them, her voice rising in volume.
“Then: “I need your giant cock inside! Fuck me! Fuck me hard!”
My pleasure! I raised up and put my hands under her ass, and lifted just a little as I lined myself up with her pussy, then slowly pushed in. The tight wet feel of her brought sounds out of me, too, and we became two musical heavy breathers even before I began any real thrusting.
She shouted, “So big!” with a wild tonality to the words, that I felt was my cue. I began an in-out rhythm where I could eventually layer-in the new immersion magic inside.
I stroked almost completely out of her and then rapidly in, grunting, “You have me feeling so huge!”
She was mauling her breasts as they rocked, and I hastened my thrusting rhythm, loving the way her tits moved with the force of it. And then, going even faster, I shouted out the trigger words, “I feel like I’m growing even harder!”
Her eyes were closed so it was every other facial feature that expressed the shock and the bliss of her hallucinations, that the cock driving inside her was impossibly swelling in size. Her eyebrows lifted and her lower lip dropped, and the tendons of her neck stood out just before she exploded in shrieking wails above and a violent expulsion of sex-juice below, which I could feel like a warm power-washing of my dick.
Her flesh turning red, her muscles involuntarily bulging, and the way her orgasm kept stretching on before it crashed down and was followed by another… What was happening to this woman was the closest thing to real magic that I knew of in this life, and it felt like the magic ed from her to me. I spewed a massive load with what felt like my own magical force, deep inside the steaming cauldron of her repeating climaxes.
I don’t how I ended up on my back beside Gina, and I don’t getting out of bed. But eventually I was in the shower, inside a steam cloud with one hand flat on the wall, feeling like I needed that stable to remain upright.
Vaguely, I think I was reminding myself that immersion hypnotism was not literal magic. That fact had been clearly stated in my training in Zurich, and I could the words to the letter: Always that immersion hypnotism, and all it can achieve, is not like waving a magic wand.
That was true; it had to be true. Even so, a question arose that did not feel entirely preposterous: Was it still true for me? I had uttered no mystical incantations, nor had I wiggled my nose, but it sure did seem to me that The Sculptor had plenty of warlock or demigod energy at his disposal.
I stood straighter in the shower, and gathered my wits. And I said with water streaming down my face, “Don’t be an idiot, starting to believe in the unbelievable.”
The next day at work, I noticed Gina’s lips almost imperceptibly moving a couple of times, and I was pretty sure she was repeating her new mantra.
At lunchtime, she asked me if I could manage things okay if she left early, so she could take care of some personal business. I told her that wouldn’t be a problem, suspecting she was already responding to the directive to seek out Susan Tinley as soon as possible.
She smiled her thanks, and then looked at me with fire in her eyes. “I think you should know that the twins have been messaging me pretty much all morning.”
“Ah,” I nodded. “Anything they need to along?”
“Yes. It’s that they fully understand that you like it when they think big.”
I couldn’t help grinning at that. “I always knew they were deeply intuitive.”
“And they’ll be even deeper, if their wishes come true.”
Gina left at three, and I closed up shop a little after six. Mira texted that she wanted me to come to her new place at ten-thirty, and I showed up right on time. She was dressed to get me hard, in a cinched corset that emphasized just how big her breasts were, and black gartered stockings with heels.
“Tell me, honestly, that you’d rather spend romantic time with anyone else,” she challenged me, taking hold of my shoulders and pressing, urging me down onto my knees.
I knew what was going on. This was no ordinary dominance game, the ultra-gorgeous woman directing her suitor to kneel at her feet. No, this was naughty Mira with her pussy afire, putting me in the perfect position to freshly drool over the otherworldly shapeliness of her legs.
“Pull it out of your pants,” she said. “It haunts my mind at least half of every day. Let me see it in the flesh.”
I did what she said, on my knees with the hard cock she was magnetized to straining forward.
Her breathing changed, becoming deeper and wetter. Looking up to take in her transfixed state, I figured it wasn’t a coincidence that Mira had dressed in a way that drew attention to just how big her breasts were. Somewhere in there, she was thinking of Gina and Julia, not having met either woman but determined to triumph over both in of sheer physical splendor.
We transitioned to her bedroom, still a work-in-progress with boxes along the far wall, and only a single bedside lamp to illuminate the ing of our bodies.
Mira began on all-fours above me, kissing my mouth and neck while arching her torso so her breasts kept making with me. She put my nose and mouth right in her cleavage before reversing her direction, my field-of-vision filled with her calves and thighs and perfect round ass. She rubbed my erection between her thighs, between her astounding calf muscles, and manipulated it further, sight-unseen, expertly with her feet.
The leg sex and leg show had me feeling like I couldn’t last much longer, and then she shimmied backwards, our positioning perfectly lined-up to become oral.
It would be difficult to say which I liked better, my hands and mouth all over Mira’s incredible legs as I ate her out, or her mouth doing things to my cock that would have frightened or perhaps even disgusted her back when our partnering began. She couldn’t suck all of me down like Terri and Julia, but it warmed my balls and my heart when she drank my semen with gusto, literally smacking her lips at the end.
And then the way her thighs shook right before she came, muscular contractions beneath the smooth surface of her skin that built into a full muscle-quaking crescendo, seemingly everywhere in her body. It was just a fact that every single orgasm that Mira experienced with me was given the equivalent of a supernatural lift, the intensity contorting the fine features of her face, her eyes bulging and perhaps looking beyond, right before expulsions of sound that started loud and full-throated, gradually softening into her unique little girl cries of complete deliverance.
Sex with Mira always felt perfect, except that I kept wishing I could hypnotize her afresh, pouring in tricks and capacities that I had only learned about in more recent weeks. Not to worry though, when every single time we went at one another I could be completely confident that she would come spectacularly, being delivered into a state of utter relaxation and a momentary erasing of her cravings, that would mimic trick birthday candles by suddenly flickering back to life, the need for Michael-cock beginning to haunt her again.
I actually tucked Mira into bed before leaving her place that night, a simple act of tenderness in an action that would have been impossible only a few days before. I leaned over her and kissed her softly on the lips, and right afterwards she told me she had a little present for me, in a box right there on her bedside table.
I saw it and picked it up. It was white and very small, the kind of box that might hold a piece of jewelry or maybe a rare coin.
“I want you to keep it with you every day,” she said, right before I lifted the lid to peer inside.
It was a brass key, and underneath was a piece of paper with a short series of numbers. “Mira, is this…”
“The key to my new home, yes. And the code to disarm the security system. We shouldn’t see each other until Thursday night, after I dance and do my duties at the after-party. In a perfect world, you’ll be here when I get home, with your huge thing just… That’s two nights from now, and I’m going to be so fucking ready. And needy.”
My cock stirred, but I ignored that and placed her key on my ring. I told her I would memorize the six digits of her code, and started to turn towards the bedroom door to leave.
“I made them the numbers of my figure, to help you ,” she said.
I looked more carefully at the string of numbers, which became a different kind of code, one that instantly stiffened and elongated my penis.
Mira sat up in bed and drew the covers down, exposing her body in her silk sleeping gown. Bunching that up and pulling it over her head and throwing it to the floor, she spread her legs wide and placed both hands right at the top of her pussy.
“Once more, for the road?”
My shoes were off before she’d even finished asking, and perhaps twenty seconds later I was touching her clitoris with my tongue, her lips simultaneously around the crown of my cock, bathing it with hot saliva.
And like the mutual addicts that we were, we brought each other off that way, and couldn’t resist another round about an hour and a half later, where she couldn’t resist throwing her no-penetration-before-opening-performance rule to the winds, and I came deep inside of her.
When I got dressed to leave some time after that, the picture of Mira on her bed was completely different, the tangled covers and her hair looking tornado-swept, and Mira’s mouth wide open, her eyes the same way, gaze affixed to the ceiling or maybe some other realm.
“I’ll always need more of this,” she whispered when I was about to leave. “It can’t ever stop.”
She was still looking above, but I knew she heard me when I replied, “It won’t stop. Ever.”
That was what I believed as our night ended. I walked out her bedroom door and was closing it when I thought I heard her whisper, like a parting directive, “Don’t you dare fall in love with anybody.”
I didn’t fall in love with anyone leading up to The Movement Machine’s opening night. I had sex with my receptionist again, several times, and it was when recovering next to Gina on Wednesday night that she told me, her voice almost a whisper, that she’d had a dream where her tits were growing, as in really growing.
I asked for the details of her dream and she was unsure of its location, although the time of year might be explicit.
“It was the summer, unless we were in the tropics. Lots of warm sun outside and a sheen of sweat on our bodies.”
“I was in the dream, too?”
“Oh yes. We were both naked on a bed and I had your thing squeezed between my tits, my sweat and maybe some suntan lotion making you glide really easily. And my boobs were massive, a lot bigger than they are now. I think your cock was bigger, too… I’m not sure. I’ve been… There have been times where you’re inside me and I know it can’t be true, but it feels to me like you’re somehow growing bigger, like almost instantly bigger!”
“This is in the dream?”
“No, I think… Let me just stick to telling the dream. In it, I’m certain in the dream that I’d outgrown my bras several times, needing to get new ones over and over. And having my boobs so much bigger like that… It was such a sexy dream! I woke up all wet and writhing… I had to do myself, just thinking about it!”
Telling me this had resurrected my erection, and I drew her hand there so she could feel it.
“You’d like it to really happen,” she said, beginning to stroke. I groaned from her finger action and she added, “I want it, too, with all my might. They say the universe is expanding—why can’t the same happen to my boobs?”
I could have laughed, but fucked her in the ass instead.
I accompanied Grace to The Movement Machine’s dance performance as scheduled, and it was such a different experience than months before, back when I’d first been smitten. I need to say a few things about that performance, because it ended up being one of those times when art brings inspiration to life.
Unlike the previous performance where there were six shorter and independent dances, this one had a single story line broken into two acts. The setting was both inside and outside of a bar/dance club, with the dancers wearing costumes that mimicked the kinds of style choices that people wear to go clubbing, all of the movement paced by various genres of contemporary music. The overall plot was right out of Romeo and Juliet, with Mira playing Juliet—Raven in this iteration—and their most handsome male dancer as the Romeo character. These two leads were from rival cultural origins, reminiscent of West Side Story; Mira belonged to a more-or-less Goth group, with the Romeo dancer part of a swaggering MAGA posse.
There was an especially moving duet between the leads, with Mira’s legs in distressed black fishnets stealing my dick’s heart as she did amazing things leaping from one tabletop to another inside the bar. No swords in this updated story-line, so the inevitable tragic moment came via the hurling of a beer bottle at the head of Mira/Raven’s best friend.
“This is frickin’ amazing!” Grace whispered to me several times, and it really was. Not just the inventive choreography, both individually and in groups, but also the stage design, and the lighting. There were scenes where the music was provided by a deejay on a raised platform, and the swirling movement of lights on overhead rolling tracks ed in with the dancing geometries to become outright psychedelic.
At the end, on the street outside the bar after the Romeo character was revenge-stabbed and loaded into a real ambulance that they somehow got on stage, it was a triumph of visual trickery the way it was portrayed that only Mira could see how MAGA-Romeo’s spirit stood up from his prone body, lifting through the ambulance’s roof to gently float up and forever into the night. No music there at the end, only the sounds of a heart monitor slowly bleeping, then going to flat tone.
“I think I’ll go to bed crying tonight!” Grace shouted into my ear during the thunderous applause, everyone in the audience standing. She kept rubbing at the streaks running down her cheeks, and I had tears in my eyes, too.
My friend helped to change our mood by reverting to her more familiar nature. “Those frickin’ legs when she was dancing on the tables and barstools! I wanted my head between them the entire time!” A few seconds later, she quietly begged me again to video Mira’s thighs and O-face, just once.
I made one of my well-practiced oh-Grace faces, and thought that was it. But then her expression turned serious, and she offered me two-thousand dollars to do it. I laughed that off, even though I knew it was a serious offer.
“Just once,” Grace said on the out of the theatre, and I thought she was still on about secretly filming Mira during sex. “Can’t Romeo and Juliet escape fate just once, and get each other in the end? Can you imagine the sex when they know Death has them right there in the palm of his bony hand, and through some miracle they get to fuck happily ever after?”
I didn’t give that much thought, because I couldn’t imagine how life would have me boomeranging back to Grace’s question in the coming months.
She and I parted ways out on the sidewalk, and I skipped the after-party as Mira and I had agreed. I was naked in Mira’s bed when she came home at midnight, and it was obvious that she was alight in a way that I had never seen before. Her soul was filled to bursting with the triumph of the night’s performance—it was like dancing on stage so successfully had temporarily united the two halves of her psyche, doubling her energy.
We didn’t outright fuck because she had additional performances the next three nights, but sucking me off was no problem, and the same for giving me another foot-job. I did my part with my mouth and she was especially vocal when she came.
Before I left, Mira said something that I had been thinking about quite a lot: “Once these performances are over, we can have weeks or even months together that are like it was when Taylor was in Africa.”
Day after day of getting off work and driving straight between Mira’s legs… We both wanted that, and we both believed it could happen.
Because of lack of sleep, I was low energy on Friday. It would be nice to say that I felt some shred of shame or regret about not being fully there for my clients, but the truth is that I didn’t care. Instead of getting my beauty sleep, I’d had my hands and mouth and dick all over Mira Cassidy’s legs and tits and sweet pussy all night long, so fuck the lesser mission of giving my full attention to my clients’ needs.
Gina ed me a note near the end of the day, that read: Though all their friends believe they should have stopped growing by now, the twins know they haven’t.
I was tempted to have a go at Gina before leaving the office, but I ed what Julia had said about being well rested, and I decided I should have Friday night all to myself, allowing my cock to be fully recuperated before driving to Maryland. I picked up tacos and washed those down on my back deck with a beer, just listening to the sounds of early summer, my cock lying low like an athlete staying calm and collected the night before the big game.
Which brings me to the point where I need to tell you about all that happened that weekend. I know I’ve been narratively speeding through the days just prior to that all-important Saturday and Sunday; I suppose it’s because in retrospect, the sex and the scheming, while so pleasureful and creative, are colored by knowing now just how oblivious I was.
I was joy-riding down a sexual immersion straightaway with the windows down, enjoying the rush while not able to read the signs, bright yellow warnings that there were life-altering curves immediately ahead.
There was some kind of incident coming, and there isn’t any point in beating myself up over what happened next, because it was completely unavoidable. And of course it wasn’t fatal for anyone—I walked away from the shattered and twisted conceptions of what I thought my life was about, in many ways with barely a scratch.
Some things did die, though, and why not? Every trained therapist knows real transformation comes at a cost; the various religions have this principle exactly right, that there cannot be a re-birth without something first dying. Existing space needs to be cleared to make deep and fundamental change possible.
It didn’t happen all at once, and in a way I wasn’t even behind the wheel. So let me tell you now about that all-important weekend, where I became the piece on an unseen chessboard, or one of those human dominoes I’d once been so happy to topple. Let me tell you how I lost the game I’d been playing for months, only to become a far more talented —or perhaps ab—of the immersion technique than ever.
I was half-jokingly thinking of myself as The Sculptor already, totally unaware of the possibilities that would open to me on that front. But they could only come forward when I became a participant in a different game, played by very different rules.